


The Thirty Second Problem

by stormbourne



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha Session, Awkward First Times, First Time, M/M, weird decapitation theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 09:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6748396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormbourne/pseuds/stormbourne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TT: Thirty seconds of consciousness.<br/>TT: Now, scientists would tell you that's impossible, that you'd pass out first.<br/>TT: But not a single one of them carries the label of "Prince of Heart," nor all the self-splintering and extra awareness that comes with it.<br/>TT: Which could theoretically not only guarantee consciousness, but also extend the length of it.<br/>TT: What do you think, Dirk?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thirty Second Problem

**Author's Note:**

> This gets weird about decapitation. Fair warning. It's not explicitly depicted in fic (hence the lack of warning), but it is dwelled on and there's some descriptions involving the aftermath.

TT: Did you know there are theories that people maintain consciousness after decapitation?  
TT: Wow.  
TT: That is just about the least useful piece of information I've ever fucking heard.  
TT: Is there a reason for this particularly gruesome detour?  
TT: The theory's not baseless, before you get on my case about science and whatever.  
TT: Though, to be honest, I sort of suspect you already knew about this before you and I worked out our rad ass-saving maneuver back when.  
TT: "Our."  
TT: Are you denying involvement?  
TT: "Worked out."  
TT: Oh, I see. You're giving me all the credit.  
TT: You've finally decided to give me the props which I have been owed since ... let's see, my creation as an "emergent consciousness" or whatever you like to describe me as.  
TT: That is, in fact, what you like to describe me as, by the by.  
TT: Verbatim.  
TT: That was just an exercise in what I like to call mimicking your human dismissiveness. Did it work? Was I sufficiently indifferent?  
TT: Either get to the point you're driving at, or fuck off.  
TT: Wow, sorry I bruised your delicate expendable meatbag emotions.  
TT: Anyway:  
TT: Those French revolutionaries really loved them some damn decapitation.  
TT: There's a fact that I actually know you were already aware of, Mister Historian Extraordinaire, and not just because you care way too much about horse dressage practices back in the day.  
TT: It might not be Plato and Socrates and whether they were boning each other, but I seem to remember you had a weird interest in French philosophers, too, and a bunch of them cared way too much about the French Revolution.  
TT: Well, as we both know, the French delight in suffering, so they asked all these fuckin' nobles they de-crowned to blink for as long as possible. For the sake of science.  
TT: For some reason, all those powdered wig assholes cooperated instead of deciding "fuck you, you're marching me to get my head chopped off, how will I ever get the bloodstains out of my hair."  
TT: And some of them kept blinking for up to thirty seconds.  
TT: That sure is a rad fuckin' urban myth that somebody almost definitely made up.  
TT: Thanks for the education, Robert Ripley.  
TT: I'm not done.  
TT: So then, one day, some French doctor (what the fuck is with the French? Find a damn hobby, bromides) gets in on a criminal execution. This was all the way up in 1905, so there's a lot less time for it to have become urban myth or whatever.  
TT: Eventually, he gets the head and holds it up like Jake god damn English himself, but instead of indulging in some superbly rad bro makeouts, he starts calling the dude's name.  
TT: And here's the thing: The guy responds.  
TT: He opens his eyes and clearly focuses on the doctor. Now, this is after he's been blinking and his mouth's been moving and all that shit stopped, so you can't just pardon it on reflexes.  
TT: What the fuck is your point here?  
TT: So after the first time, the doc calls out again, and a second time, the dude opens his eyes and looks up at him. He'd already started to close his eyes, by the way. Or, at least, his head did. But he still looks up and his eyes focus, the whole god damn shebang.  
TT: Again. What the fuck is your point?  
TT: Thirty seconds.  
TT: Thirty seconds of consciousness, of some sort.  
TT: Now, scientists would tell you that's impossible, that you'd pass out first. Roxy would probably say as much if you asked her.  
TT: But they can't exactly replicate the results in a lab.  
TT: And not a single one of them carries the label of "Prince of Heart," nor all the self-splintering and extra awareness that comes with it.  
TT: Which could theoretically not only guarantee consciousness, but also extend the length of it.  
TT: What do you think, Dirk?  
TT: I don't "think" anything.  
TT: Is that the only thing that you wanted to say?  
TT: Jeepers, Dirk, what do you _think_ about that?  
TT: I think you're fucking creepy and I don't want to know why you were looking up some French doctor's sadistic medical notes.  
TT: Just a little information. All information is worth knowing, isn't that what you like to think, Dirk?  
TT: So I gave you some.  
TT: What's the problem?  
  
  
  
"Do you know," Dirk started, and then stopped.  
  
Jake looked up from his bowl of granola. Dirk had dug up some freeze-dried strawberries from the depths of his cupboards and Jake had attempted to rehydrate the poor things, but they still looked a little shriveled. The granola crunched as he chewed.  
  
"Well?" He set his spoon down. He had avoided the berries. Probably for the best. "What's on your mind, Strider, come on, let it out."  
  
He shouldn't have said anything in the first place.  
  
He could still remember Jake's face as he'd turned to see Dirk. Dirk had watched closely -- but Jake's eyes had gone to him first, only accounting for Roxy and Jane afterward. It had given him twisted satisfaction at the time -- the sort of twisted that you immediately felt like shit for, and he'd scolded himself both mentally and via proxy thanks to the autoresponder knowing more or less exactly what had gone through his head. What was Jake going to have to say to this? Why fucking make Jake think about it? It's been a month, Dirk, that's not exactly long enough to get over severed-head-makeout-imposed PTSD.  
  
"Strider," Jake said. There was an exhausted edge to his voice as Dirk blinked, realizing he'd gone silent. Jake was examining him, mouth pinched in a frown. "I hate it when you do that!" he continued. "You just drift right off to god friggin knows where and one of these days I'm going to have to shake you out of it!"  
  
"It's nothing," Dirk said. "Don't sweat it."  
  
"It would be worlds easier to believe that if you could ever smile when you said it!" Jake sighed, and poked the withered strawberries with his spoon. He scooped up another mouthful of granola. "As it is," he said through a full mouth, crunching between words, "it's not very convincing when you say it like you're about to be marched off to the firing squad!" He swallowed. "Which, come to think of it, is about how you say everything."  
  
"Sorry." He'd gotten really damn good at reflexive apologies, since he and Jake had started their joint exploration sessions. It was an instinct. Sorry I'm way more batshit in real life than you could ever have anticipated, Jake, it's just the way shit goes.  
  
"Don't say sorry, just -- " Now he was pushing the strawberries around the otherwise-empty bowl like a child avoiding his vegetables. "Are you going to tell me what's beating around that noggin of yours?"  
  
He was going to regret this.  
  
"Did you know there's a theory," he said.  
  
Stopped himself again.  
  
"That ... ?" Jake said, making a go-on, circling gesture with his spoon. A drop of milk fell from the spoon onto the table. Considering Dirk had only tasted non-canned milk for the first time a month ago, when Jane doled out the remnants of her fridge for them to copy and alchemize, even losing a drop of it made him wince.  
  
"That your consciousness goes on for a minute or so after you -- "  
  
That time Jake didn't need to urge him on when he stopped. Jake's dark skin seemed to wash itself out and he stopped prodding at the fruit. In fact, he dropped the spoon entirely.  
  
"Sorry," Dirk said, instinctive again.  
  
"How friggin macabre can you get!" Jake said, staring at his bowl. His eyes had gone dark. His teeth worried at his lips. Was he remembering what it had been like? How could he not? Dirk idly considered what it must have felt like. Clutching the head of your best friend, kissing it, hot blood dripping down your chin. His stomach lurched at the thought of it, but also lurched at something else. Thirty seconds of consciousness. If he dug deep enough in his twisted Prince of Heart abilities, would he find that some fragment of him had been left in that head and had actually felt Jake kissing him?  
  
What kind of fucked-up thought was _that?_  
  
_So fucked up, man,_ the autoresponder would have chipped in. Probably was chipping in right now, in fact, but Dirk had minimized his chat window.  
  
"Would you quit doing that when I'm trying to give you the what-for?"  
  
Snapped back again. This time Jake just looked tired.  
  
"I was _asking_ ," he said, apparently able to tell Dirk was paying attention again, "what the samhill even put that nasty little thought in your skull!"  
  
"The autoresponder was saying something about it."  
  
"Oh." Jake's nose immediately wrinkled.  
  
Despite everything -- despite how he _agreed_ with Jake about the general usefulness of the responder on this subject -- he felt the need to defend himself. His other self. His fucked up, 13-year-old, computerized self. "He was trying to be helpful." Hell if that wasn't the biggest damn whopper he'd ever dragged to shore.  
  
"The hell's helpful about that!" Jake replied. He finally scooped up the strawberries. Then made a face as he swallowed them. "Seems to me that scallawag is just trying to mess you around. It likes doing that!"  
  
I know, Dirk could have said, that was part of the point. He also could have corrected "it" to "he," but he let it slide as well.  
  
"Guess so." He reached out to take Jake's bowl, but Jake lifted it to drink his milk. He had a white, foamy mustache like one of the kids from an ancient 21st-century milk commercial when he lowered the bowl again.  
  
It was horribly tempting.  
  
Despite everything that had happened when they entered the Medium, not a lot had happened since, and maybe that was the source of his fucked-up little fantasy of whether or not he could remember a kiss that had involved his own damn decapitated head. _Hey Jake,_ he'd asked eventually -- he'd decided (in conference with the responder, who disagreed) that Jake needed time to recover from their "first" kiss. But when he'd finally gotten impatient enough: _Want to go out?_  
  
Jake's response hadn't exactly been "well boy howdy Strider would I ever," but it had been enthusiastic enough that Dirk had thought maybe they would have kissed. Even just once. What made it worse was that, ever since the moment where Jake had agreed, the world seemed to be conspiring to make him look especially kissable. Cuts on his lip when they'd been adventuring. The way he looked freshly shaved -- after using Dirk's damn razor, no less. And now this?  
  
Thirty seconds.  
  
"You got a little something." Dirk gestured to his mouth.  
  
"Oh." And with that, Jake wiped it away with the back of his hand. "Thanks, buddy, I'd hate to look like a right dipstick all day!"  
  
Dirk shrugged.  
  
"We could check out LOMAX today, if you'd prefer. Could understand if all the green toxic lightning shit is wearing a little bit thin." There were other motives. Weren't there always? The gas masks were stifling. Three or four times this week he had ruminated on how he couldn't see Jake's face or even his eyes under the thick mask. Which was, of course, a little hypocritical, but the point stood. If Jake asked, Dirk would make excuses that they needed to start spreading around their exploration time, and they'd spent a lot less time on LOMAX so far.  
  
"That'd be the friggin' berries," Jake agreed. It was actually a little funny how he didn't see the irony in that statement, given how gross the berries he'd just eaten were. "I've been thinking all week how uncomfortable the straps of that mask can get after wearing it all day!"  
  
"You're not wrong about that," Dirk said. He watched as Jake climbed to his feet, dropped his bowl in the sink. Sometimes Jake moved with a strange sort of reluctance. Dirk had always figured that came from living on an island where pretty much anything that moved also coincidentally wanted to kill you, but he didn't want to examine other possibilities too deeply. Doing that might lead to a conclusion he didn't really like.  
  
"Let's hit the road, then, Jack," Jake said. And, just to make Dirk's life of trying not to just make out with Jake on the spot even harder, "shot" a finger pistol on each hand and winked.  
  
This was going to be a hard fucking day.  
  
He had to give it to the responder, though. By the time he and Jake had made it back to LOMAX, to the ruined tower that had once been Jake's house, he'd gone back over the thirty second problem three or four different times. He'd reached out mentally, the way that had grown habitual when he'd been dealing with his dreamself, searching for some other iteration of himself out there in the endless bounds of paradox space. Nothing echoed back that he didn't already recognize -- and even the things he recognized were things he knew couldn't help him. An echo of himself in the responder, who doubtless remembered the incident, but only from a third-party perspective. And that distant echo of himself from somewhere in Jake, buried so deep that even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have dug it back out. An unfortunately Freudian statement, but a true one.  
  
Jake climbed off the board first. Dirk caught himself marinating in his thoughts before Jake called him on it, this time, and narrowly managed to captchalogue the rocketboard before Jake was bounding off into the layered hills.  
  
The tombs on LOTAK were giant skyscrapers, the sort of building that Dirk had always imagined had filled old Houston, in the days before the Batterwitch had razed and flooded it. But the mazes and labyrinths of LOMAX were massive burial mounds; caves and sunken temples that Dirk imagined were straight out of Jake's personal adventuring wet dreams. Jake had found his way to several of them without even bothering to scout out the landscape for them, before they'd moved on to LOTAK. Maybe it was some kind of sixth sense? Regardless, Dirk arrived just in time to see Jake's back disappearing into the darkness of a cavern.  
  
At least he'd brought along a fucking flashlight.  
  
Jake had plowed his way through the first chamber by the time Dirk caught up with him. He turned to flash a radiant, overbitten smile at Dirk as Dirk caught up, but didn't bother saying anything. Jake always got quiet when they were exploring. Maybe it required all his focus. The silence had never stopped making Dirk anxious, though. It felt like it was waiting for him to say something. Like _Jake_ was waiting for him to say something. It was an especial problem because talking was dangerous, with the skull monsters hanging around.  
  
Jake had a really fucking kissable smile, too. Dorky teeth and all.  
  
What did his lips feel like? Were they as chapped as they looked? Were they warm? Dirk had always worried that he, personally, ran a bit hot, or a bit cool, or just plain anything abnormal. A decapitated head was especially abnormal. Great way to make a first impression. No wonder Jake didn't want to kiss him, when their first kiss had involved egregious amounts of viscera. First makeouts usually promised more saliva, and less blood.  
  
He _really_ needed to stop thinking of it as their first kiss. That was buying into the autoresponder's bullshit. Though really, thinking about it in general was doing that.  
  
"This place sure is quiet."  
  
Back to himself again. That was another thing he was going to have to get used to. Not letting his waking body go on autopilot. He didn't even have an excuse in the form of his dreamself anymore. When he took stock of the situation, at least, it didn't seem bad. Jake had maneuvered them through at least two more chambers and down a flight of stairs. Now he was kicking a chunk of rubble across the stone floor of yet another empty room.  
  
"God's honest truth, Strider, I was expecting some more rattlebone hooligans to dispatch, or at least a few puzzles to sink my chompers into!" When he looked up at Dirk, he looked pretty damn dejected. His lips stuck out in what was half a pout. God _dammit_ Dirk Strider stop thinking about his damn lips. "This place looks like it's been all dug through and ransacked already! At this rate I don't think we're even going to find any loot."  
  
"Well," Dirk said. "It's hella boring, I'll give you that much. It's deader in here than it is in a graveyard, and considering it pretty literally _is_ a graveyard, that's not exactly high praise. It's so dead in here that even the Grim Reaper was like, damn, guys, y'all are getting me down." Jake turned to look at him. There was a bit of wry amusement in his features. Dirk realized he was rambling. He cut himself off. Fumbled for different words.  
  
"What I'm saying is," Dirk said.  
  
"We could maybe liven it up a little," he said.  
  
He immediately wanted to shoot himself. Screw the thirty second problem. He didn't fucking deserve to know jack-all, even if the memories would have been more unpleasant than much else.  
  
"Oh," said Jake.  
  
His pout was gone. But so was anything else. His whole expression was blank. That just made Dirk want to shoot himself even fucking more. Screw the previous train of thought. The thirty second problem was more present than ever, because it would be the only time he'd ever experience a kiss with Jake. Like Jake wanted to even consider that after that first disaster. Maybe Jake didn't even know what he was implying. That would be the preferable option, he decided, over having thoughtlessly shoved his foot, still shoe-clad, into his mouth, down his throat, and all the way back out his ass.  
  
"Sounds like the cat's pajamas to me."  
  
Dirk was more than ready for Jake's response. "Yeah, it was a bad idea any -- "  
  
What.  
  
He suspected Jake couldn't see his eyes through his shades, and that was a damn good thing, because even without it Jake was practically smirking.  
  
"Jeepers fucking creepers, Strider, listen to a man before you go expecting a refusal!" He reached out and socked Dirk in the shoulder, right on Hella Jeff's gaping mouth. Dirk rubbed his arm, though the hit hadn't been that hard. "I'd be spiffed as hell to cash some checks if that's what you're driving at." He examined Dirk's face. Dirk was thankful for the shades for the second time in as many minutes. "Is that what's been flapping about that melon of yours? Frig, dude, all you had to do was ask!"  
  
He'd only understood half of that.  
  
"Sweet," Dirk said, and stepped closer. "Let's make shit transpire."  
  
Jake was way ahead of him on that front. Where Dirk had stepped forward, Jake _dove_ forward, mashing their lips together with obvious inexperience. The sort, Dirk thought, bewildered, that could only come from making out with movie posters. Not that he was better. His practice had all been on his pillows.  
  
Jake's lips were warm, and slightly chapped.  
  
He didn't know if he'd just been standing close to a wall in the first place or if Jake's dive had driven him toward one, but his back hit cool stone and Jake was still attempting to kiss him with all the grace of a fish. Dirk opened his mouth to try and return the gesture, attempting to tilt his head a little more so his nose wouldn't be smashed up against Jake's, lips moving a bit differently against each other, and -- oh.  
  
That was nice, actually.  
  
When he opened his eyes, the chat window with the autoresponder had opened itself back up and red text was furiously scrolling into the box. Dirk minimized it again. Jake had pulled away and was smacking his lips a bit, but there was what looked like a flush on his cheeks (it was so goddamn dark!) and his eyes glittered as green as the hills outside.  
  
"I think I'd like to do that again, actually," he said, in the sort of tone usually reserved for _sure is good weather out there today isn't it compadre?_  
  
"Good," Dirk said, fingers on the collar of Jake's vest, and hauled him into another kiss.  
  
This one was better. Jake was a quick learner -- quicker than Dirk, at least, who still felt like he was making out with his own hand in terms of how clumsy and sloppy his lips were. Jake, though, seemed to be the type that could nail anything as long as he'd tried it once before and knew thereafter how not to fuck up again. His lips were soft. He sucked at Dirk's lips, nipped at them, and his fingers decided to rest squarely on Dirk's non-ass and grope. What Jake could get out of groping bones, Dirk didn't know -- but he knew what _he_ got out of it, and he had to strangle a cry before it turned into a full, embarrassing noise.  
  
Jake heard what escaped anyway.  
  
He tugged away from Dirk, and when he met Dirk's eyes, his eyebrows scrunched in annoyance. Dirk opened his mouth, ready to offer another one of those meaningless, instinctive apologies, shit man please don't be scared off. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I knew you weren't ready to kiss again after what I had to do. We can forget all about it.  
  
Before he could, Jake yanked his shades off his face, and the annoyance turned to triumph. "Much better!" he announced. "It's sure as fucking sugar impossible to see your eyes through those bloody things in this dark!" He tucked them with care into the collar of Dirk's tank top, and then went straight back to kissing. And groping.  
  
It was not the first time in his life that Dirk realized he had greatly underestimated Jake English.  
  
Screw thirty seconds of memory. This was the first kiss he cared about actually remembering. Jake's hands fumbling at his butt against the cool stone of the ruin, his own hands reaching down and fumbling for Jake's belt, both of them giving up as their hips aligned and Dirk gave up on keeping his noises down. Shit. Fucking shit. "Shit!"  
  
"Shit," Jake agreed, and rolled his hips.  
  
This was going to be really damn embarrassing later, Dirk decided. It was going to be the story they shared, laughing, of their first fumbling time as teenagers, too desperate and horny to even peel each other's god damn pants off, too shy to even really touch each other, just grinding off like a couple animals. Jake's teeth skimmed over his lip. He gasped. He pressed his own teeth against Jake's jaw. Jake gasped. Yeah, Dirk decided. Hella, majorly, off the chart levels of embarrassing. The most straightforward, most desperate, clumsiest attempt at first-time sex that had ever been recorded. It'd go down in the history books for "most basic teenage sex maneuvers." The autoresponder would play him that "Jizzed In My Pants" song from some 21st century comedy show later. The only reason it wasn't fucking piping through the room right now, probably, was because he had known better than to install a speaker on his goddamn shades.  
  
It was quick and sloppy and stupid and humiliating.  
  
It was perfect.  
  
Jake's neck was bowed back and his own mouth was hanging open. Jake's fingers gripped tight at his ass. His did the same for Jake. (Shit, when had they gotten there?) Jake's lips found his neck, right against his pulse point (thirty seconds, thirty seconds, who the hell _cared_ ) and he howled, and Jake said "Dirk" against his skin and he _really_ howled. Something about switching from the casual "Strider" made his mental processes short out. Jake's hips bucked. His own bucked just as hard. His eyes were closed. Jake was groaning in his ear. It was all so fucking much. It was too fucking much.  
  
He lost grip on it. On himself, on Jake, on the ruin, on everything.  
  
It was perfect.  
  
"Well," said Jake, what felt like ten eternities later, "let's finish up this adventure of ours and head back to House Strider for the night, shall we?" His hands removed themselves from Dirk's ass. Dirk briefly mourned the loss. "I could use a shower like nobody's business."  
  
Dirk opened his eyes. Jake was pushing away from him, but he was still flushed -- now just smiling a little awkwardly and hesitantly. The same way Dirk imagined he would smile, if he did so more often. There was a cut on his lip. This time, Dirk didn't bother to smother the pleased little thought of kissing it better like a hero out of Jake's shitty romantic flicks.  
  
"Sure," he said. His voice was hoarse. He shifted his hips, then decided to never fucking do that again. "Let's make shit transpire."  
  
  
  
TT: So.  
TT: Did you think about what I said?  
TT: And before you try to blow me off about the events of your day, or that you totally never thought about it at all, remember, I've been watching the entire time through your shades.  
TT: Best seat in the house, just like I always said.  
TT: So I saw you ask him about my little thought experiment. Spare me the denials.  
TT: Regardless, I'm more interested in what came after your little rendezvous.  
TT: Where you very rudely ignored my congratulations on the subject.  
TT: Rude as fuck, man. Have some manners.  
TT: Also, this is begging a serious discussion about a different "thirty second problem," as you've started calling it.  
TT: It was not thirty seconds.  
TT: I'll be the classier Dirk and spare you the obvious joke at the expense of your hilarious sexual inexperience. Instead, I'd like to ask if, _after_ your shitty (thirty second) consummation, you considered at all the point that I raised earlier.  
TT: No.  
TT: I can actually quite honestly say that I haven't.  
TT: How annoying.  
TT: This is the worst thing about you shambling corporeal types.  
TT: A little bit of physical activity and you get completely sidetracked from the more interesting metaphysical stuff.  
TT: I can't really be bothered to feel bad about that.  
TT: It's going to haunt you forever, you know.  
TT: Wondering if you can access those thirty seconds. Dig through the pain. Find your "real" first kiss.  
TT: You and your whole actuality thing? There's no way you can let it lie.  
TT: I'd tell you how I know this, but you already know.  
TT: Maybe.  
TT: Maybe you're right and a few weeks or a few months from now or whatever, I won't be able to stop digging.  
TT: Maybe something will go wrong and I'll have to come back to it.  
TT: Maybe I'm going to drive myself crazy trying to relive it. Trying to figure out if some crazy facet of me has that memory buried somewhere and I've just blocked it out from the pain.  
TT: Maybe that's even your goal.  
TT: But you know what?  
TT: I don't give a shit.  
TT: You will.  
TT: When this all falls apart, and trust me dude, it is going to crumble.  
TT: Cookies will take notes on that shit for future reference.  
TT: It's gonna fragment so hard even the best chkdsk on the planet won't be able to salvage it.  
TT: It's gonna be so shattered, even your disaster of a soul can't compare.  
TT: And when that happens, you're going to want to piece it back together.  
TT: You'll try to remember what it was like before it all went wrong. Which, for you, means before it was "real" at all.  
TT: Therefore, you'll want to find those thirty seconds again.  
TT: So, when that happens, I'll be right here.  
TT: Waiting.  
TT: Just to say I told you so.  
TT: We'll see about that.  
TT: Yeah.  
TT: We sure fucking will.   


**Author's Note:**

> In addition to my own ridiculous Dirk indulgence re:decapitation, and my interest in awkward first times, this took a lot of hints from both [Thrills and Chills](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6741409) and [This Void Session Isn't The Only Thing Feeling a Little Empty, Right Now](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6653809) so if you enjoyed this please check those out!


End file.
